


Until You're In My Arms Again

by ravengranger



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: COCO SPOILERS, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Gen, Imelda and Hector are OTP, Light Angst with a Happy Ending, Nearly getting murdered by your hero would leave some trauma, Nightmare Sequence, coco one shot, dream sequence major character death, even in a dream ernesto is the worst, family hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-11
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-11-15 09:46:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,797
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravengranger/pseuds/ravengranger
Summary: It's Dia de Los Muertos, one year after Miguel's adventure to the Land of the Dead. After a wonderful visit, Héctor, Imelda, and Coco are about to head back to the Land of the Dead when they decide to check in on Miguel one last time.How can you comfort the Living when you are one of the Dead?





	Until You're In My Arms Again

Héctor

“Héctor,” Imelda scolded. “We need to get back, it’s almost sunrise!”

“Just a few more minutes, mi amor.” Héctor said, shouldering his guitar-offering, and heading towards Miguel’s room. He heard Imelda sigh behind him, but it was the sigh she gave when she was only pretending to be annoyed. He passed through Miguel’s bedroom door (Ay, he still wasn’t used to passing though things), Imelda and Coco following close behind. They all stood in the rather messy bedroom, the floor littered with scribbled out song lyrics, sheet music, and candy wrappers. Miguel’s guitar and his sombrero leaned against the bed, and the boy lay fast asleep. Imelda shook her head in exasperation at the mess, but her lips quirked up in a smile. Héctor looked fondly at Miguel. His little chamaco had grown a couple of inches in this last year. And his musical skills had developed wonderfully. Héctor chuckled to himself as he remembered the dying kitten noise that the boy had tried to pass for a grito. It was so good to see him again.

Miguel’s peaceful face suddenly changed, becoming more tense and worried. A little groan escaped him.

Héctor became worried. “Miguel?” He reached out and tried to touch his shoulder, but of course it passed right through him. Héctor scowled. He kept forgetting that the dead couldn’t touch the living. He had tried to hug Miguel at least twenty times that night, had tried to call out his name, only to be gently reminded by Imelda that Miguel couldn’t hear him.

Miguel tossed a bit from side to side, murmuring “No, no.” His murmurs became louder and a bit more distressed sounding.

A nightmare, then. Héctor groaned. Heaven knows that Miguel had enough cause for nightmares, after nearly being murdered at the hands of Ernesto last year.

Miguel

“MI PROUD CORAZON!!!” He sang, with the widest smile he ever had stretching across his face. The rest of his family clapped and even let out a few gritos. Socorro squealed with happiness from her mother’s arms. Miguel grinned at her. Socorro absolutely loved music. A lullaby could get her to stop crying, a fast mariachi song got her laughing, and “Remember Me” was used to put her to sleep at night. Miguel was planning to teach her how to play the guitar the second she was old enough.

“Miguel!”

That voice sounded familiar. Miguel turned around. “Héctor!” He cried out. The skeletal form of his great-great grandfather stood near the house that held the family ofrenda, leaning against the door.

“Hey, chamaco.” Héctor greeted him.

Miguel ran to grab his Papá Héctor in a hug…

And fell into a bridge of yellow flowers.

“Qué?” Miguel gasped. He struggled to push himself up, but his hands wouldn’t cooperate. He looked down, and almost shrieked when he found that they were bones.

Not again, not again…

He shrieked for real as his right arm fell off—an entirely skeletal arm lying amongst the marigold petals.

“Miguel!” Papa Héctor’s shout sounded farther away now.

“Héctor!” yelled Miguel. “Héctor! ¿Dónde estás?” He tried to pick up his arm with his other hand, but before he could, the arm on the ground suddenly changed into a guitar—one that was entirely made out of bones.

Miguel darted backwards, away from the guitar. What was happening? Where was Héctor? He managed to stand up.

“Miguel!”

Miguel whirled around to see Héctor standing behind him. “Héctor!”

Before Miguel could ask him what was going on, Héctor’s body began glowing. He fell into the petals, writhing in pain, the yellow light shining through his bones.

“No! Papa Héctor!”

Miguel bent down. Not again, no, he couldn’t lose him…But Héctor should be remembered now, shouldn’t he?

“We’re both out of time…” Héctor whispered.

“NO!” Miguel yelled.

Héctor’s legs began dissolving, but instead of changing into golden particles like the forgotten man had back in the Land of the Dead, the bones dissolved into a sort of gray dust that settled over the flowers. Héctor smiled. “Ashes to ashes…”

“NOOOOO!!!!” Miguel reached for Héctor, for some way to stop it, to stop his great-great grandfather from disintegrating before his eyes.

Before long, only Héctor’s head was left. Miguel could feel the tears sliding down his face.

“Lo siento, lo siento, Héctor.”

Héctor answered him, but his voice sounded gravellier, almost like a hiss. “Seize your moment…”

“Qué?” Miguel gasped.

He screamed again as Héctor’s face began morphing into the skeletal version of the face that he’d seen for years in his attic ofrenda. The man who had been his guitar teacher, who had inspired his great love for music, his idol.

The man who had murdered his great-great grandfather.

The man who had tried to murder him.

Ernesto de la Cruz’s head lay in a bed of marigold petals.

“Seize your moment…” Ernesto hissed again.

Then the head began to rise into the air as if the petals were pushing it up. The petals formed a humanoid shape under Ernesto, leaving him as a skeleton head with a body made of marigold petals. Ernesto made a grab for Miguel, easily lifting him up by his shirt collar.

Miguel kicked, trying desperately to get away. “Héctor! Imelda! Mamá! Papá! Ayúdame, ayúdame!!!”

Ernesto grinned. “I would move heaven and earth for you, Miguel…”

“NO!!!”

Ernesto walked to the edge of the bridge, carrying Miguel with him. “I hope you die very soon…” 

“Please, please.” Miguel sobbed.

“Adiós.” Ernesto said…

Then threw Miguel off the bridge.

Miguel fell.

He fell, twisting and turning and seeing nothing but emptiness and blackness beneath his feet, and then a stone floor rushing up to meet him…

He gasped, his eyes flying open. He sat bolt upright, then stared around him in confusion. He was in his bedroom…Miguel’s eyes flew down to his hands. He almost cried out in relief when he saw two hands, both covered in skin. He was alive.

His hands were shaking, however, and he felt something wet on his face. He angrily wiped the tears away. Just another nightmare…

He’d gotten a few nightmares over the year he’d been home from the Land of the Dead, but he hadn’t had one this bad in a while. He looked fearfully towards the door, but he didn’t hear any footsteps. Good. He hadn’t actually been screaming. But he couldn’t help feeling disappointed when no one came.

“You’re thirteen,” Miguel told himself angrily. “You’re too old to be running to Mamá and Papá for a nightmare.”

But when he thought about Héctor dissolving into ashes, and Ernesto…

Miguel curled up, trying to think of something, anything else to keep the terrible images away. 

Héctor

“M’ijo…” Héctor murmured brokenly. “M’ijo…”

Miguel was curled up on the bed, looking like he was trying not to sob.

Imelda and Coco gave Héctor anguished expressions, both feeling as trapped as he was. Their great-great grandson (or great-grandson, in Coco’s case) was in pain, was scared and sad, and they had no way to help him.

Héctor clenched his teeth. Ernesto, that dirty, filthy, terrible, murdering RAT . He had done this, had stripped away Miguel’s assurance of safety and innocence at the age of twelve, and it was only with Pepita’s help that Ernesto hadn’t actually managed to kill Miguel.

Miguel seemed to be losing the battle against tears. Héctor heard a sob.

He couldn’t stand it anymore. He walked through the bed (passing through it yet again, AY that was annoying) and reached out to Miguel. “Oh, chamaco…”

His arms, as predicted, passed right through Miguel, but Héctor didn’t let go. He held on to what felt like empty air, praying desperately for some way for Miguel to get some form of comfort from it.

He waited for Imelda to tell him how ridiculous he was being, that Miguel couldn’t actually feel him or see him. He started when a pair of skeletal arms was wrapped around himself and Miguel. He looked up to see Imelda holding on to him and the empty air that was Miguel. Then Coco’s arms joined theirs.

They hugged, trying to be there for their little boy, and gulped away the choking feeling of tears they could no longer shed. 

Miguel

Miguel shook with sobs, wishing desperately to go to someone but not allowing himself to do so. “Stop being dumb, stop being dumb…” 

A weird feeling tickled his arms and back. Miguel looked down, wondering if there was some sort of fly or mosquito that had landed on his arm. No.

The feeling got stronger and a bit warmer. It was strange, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It was actually sort of…nice.

Although he couldn’t figure out why, Miguel found himself uncurling slightly, relaxing a bit.

The sobs began to slow down, and Miguel’s breathing became a bit more regular.

As he curled into the warm feeling, something tickled his mind as well. There was something familiar, a hint of a name that he couldn’t catch. His senses tingled slightly. 

He buried himself in the feeling, and the hint of something became an itch, so familiar…so familiar…

Snippets of scenes started to dance across his mind, all disconnected and jumbled.

Guitar…

Dancing on…a stage…

“Un Poco Loco!”

“Chamaco.”

Chamaco? Poco Loco?

“Papá…Héctor?” Miguel said, hesitantly, trying out the name as if it was a key he was sliding hesitantly into a lock. Apparently, it fit, because the warm feeling got even warmer as the tingling spread over his entire body, as if every side of him was been pricked with the pins and needles feeling that his feet sometimes got if he sat in one place for too long.

“Héctor…” Miguel breathed. Somehow, his Papa Héctor was here, in his room, so close to him it was like he was sitting right next to him. Or perhaps he was right next to him, and Miguel just couldn’t see him. More tears came to Miguel’s eyes, only this time they sprang from a different source than the fear.

“Papá Héctor, estás aquí!”

Other strands of memory tickled his mind, but these were not ones he shared with Papa Héctor. These ones carried a different sense about them. Héctor’s sense, or presence, had felt lighthearted, comical even, but strong and…determined. Sí. Just as he remembered his Papa Héctor being when he had met him in the Land of the Dead. This one felt harder, rather like his Abuelita. Strong down to the core, and…Miguel searched again for the word…and almost laughed as he came across it. Stubborn. Sí.

“I thought you hated music!”

“I loved it…”

“Llorona, llorona…” 

“Never forget how much your family loves you…”

“Mamá Imelda?” Miguel whispered. She was here too? That meant she was with Papá Héctor! They were together again!

Wait, did that mean…was…

More memories danced across Miguel’s mind, but these carried the sense of a will much gentler than Imelda’s, yet not as lighthearted as Héctor’s.

“Remember me, each time you hear a sad guitar…”

An orange slice tucked into a wrinkled hand.

“Papá was a musician. When I was a little girl, he and Mamá would sing such beautiful songs…”

His own sweet Mamá Coco, passed away only a few months ago.

They were all here. Together.

“Papá Héctor! Mamá Imelda! Mamá Coco!”

Impulsively, Miguel threw his arms out wide, trying to surround the feeling with his arms, wishing so desperately that he could hug them, that he could see them, hear them, hold them. But they were here, they were with him, they were together, and he could feel them. Any fear or sadness left over from the nightmare seemed to fade away at that moment, forgotten.

Héctor

Héctor held his eyes closed as he and his wife and daughter hugged—or tried to hug—Miguel. He wished so badly he could hold his great-great-grandson, that he could comfort him…help him.

He heard Miguel’s breathing begin to even a little, and the sobs slow. That was good. Miguel was calming down.

He opened his eyes to see that Miguel had snuggled up closer to the group hug, as if he could feel…

Stop it, Héctor!

Miguel’s tearstained face was currently crinkled into confusion, as if he had been called on in class and was desperately trying to remember the answer for the teacher. Héctor had known the feeling well when he had gone to school, usually because he had been too busy scribbling song ideas or staring out the window.

“Papá…Héctor…”

Héctor jumped, having an old Living impulse to choke in surprise. “Miguel?” he asked. Could he actually, finally see—

No. Miguel wasn’t looking at him, and he had shown no reaction to Héctor saying his name. Perhaps Miguel was simply thinking about Héctor, and had just happened to say his name out loud. But perhaps he could…maybe he could sense…

Miguel’s face broke into a smile as his face turned to Héctor’s direction. Miguel looked past him, but he was still facing him. “Papa Héctor, estás aquí!”

Héctor let out a spontaneous grito as he heard Imelda and Coco gasp in surprise. Miguel could feel them!

“Sí, sí, Miguel, estoy aquí, estoy aquí, m’ijo!”

His arms still failed to catch any sense of holding a living being, but he squeezed anyway. His boy, his chamaco, his great-great grandson, knew he was there!

Miguel’s smile faded into another look of concentration, as if he was reaching for a word of the tip of his tongue. “Mamá Imelda…” he finally whispered.

Héctor didn’t look up, but he could see Imelda’s shocked face with her gasp of surprise. Ah, Miguel sensed her, as well!

“Papá Héctor! Mamá Imelda! Mamá Coco!”

Imelda and Coco matched twin cries of joy with Héctor’s own.

Somehow, despite being solidly in the Living world and Héctor and Imelda and Coco being little better than shadows tiptoeing from the Land of the Dead, Miguel could feel them being there for him, holding him, loving him for all they were worth.

Miguel threw his arms open, and now he was the one trying to embrace them, trying to bridge the gap between worlds. Miguel’s left arm passed through Héctor’s shoulder, and his right arm through Imelda’s side, but it was close enough.

All of them held on a group hug, the one they never got together in the Land of the Dead, the one that was forbidden in the Land of the Living. But they all knew that each other was there, they were together, and that was enough.

They hugged like that for a long time, no one speaking.

Then Imelda broke the hug.

When Héctor looked up in surprise, her face was twisted with regret. “It is too close to sunrise. We’ll have to run as it is. Lo siento, mi amor, but we have to go.”

Héctor sighed. She was right, of course. As always. But he hated to leave Miguel. He wished he could stay here, in the living world, holding his boy, his chamaco.

But as Coco stood with her mother, Héctor knew he had to go.

Slowly, regretfully, he drew away from Miguel, away from the bed, and towards his wife and daughter.

Miguel seemed to sense this, since his arms fell back to his sides. The smile on his face faded, growing serious.

“I know,” he said, his face turning slightly away from them, towards the door. “You have to go. It’s probably close to sunrise.”

Even though Héctor knew it was pointless, he nodded. “Sí, chamaco. We have to go.”

“I hoped you liked the offerings. And the music. And I hope you guys met mi hermanita. Her name is Socorro, you know.”

Héctor knew. He had heard the name at the celebration earlier, and had thought it perfect.

“Say hola to Julio and everyone for me, por favor?”

“We will.” Imelda answered.

As if he had heard her, Miguel smiled again, although a few tears were sliding down his cheeks again. He wiped them away. “I’ll see—you’ll be here next year, then.”

“Absolutely,” said Coco, smiling fondly at her great-grandson.

“I love you.”

Coco bent down and kissed his forehead several times. “Te quiero, Miguel.’

“Te quiero,” Imelda and Héctor echoed, giving one last empty-air hug to their great-great-grandson.

Miguel gave a shuddering sigh, then fell back against the pillows.

“Te quiero,” he whispered, his eyes fluttering.

Imelda passed through the door, grasping hands with Coco in preparation of the dash back to the bridge.

“Te quiero,” Miguel whispered one last time, his closing eyes missing the glimpse of yellow light that flashed near the door as Héctor stepped through, joining his wife and daughter on their journey back to the Land of the Dead.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this, guys! I wrote this a year ago (when I should have been working on a paper). I was texting this to my friend bit by bit and had wayyyyy too much fun writing the nightmare sequence. Anyway, I'm FINALLY getting around to posting it. 
> 
> If there are any cultural/language errors on here, PLEASE let me know so I can correct them! 
> 
> Thanks again! Hope you liked it!


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